Dancing with Death
by Divinely Ethereal
Summary: "...And before the last grain of lucidity you have left disintegrates into nothing, you sadly reflect that Death has always been your one true paramour." Jin Kazama,  One-Shot


**Dancing with Death**

_**A/N: Okay, so I haven't done anything on here in...seven months *gasp* *hangs head*, but I've been nursing this plot bunny for quite a long time…only, essays, exams, busy holidays, all laced with heavy drama prevented it from taking shape. Heck, it's not even the most original, though I hope it hasn't been done before. Basically, it's Jin dying all alone and butthurt in a city alley one night, post Tekken 6. Why? Who knows? It's also my first piece in the rare second person format. This was my way of consoling myself since I failed to make this into my first drabble. Disclaiming Tekken as usual….**_

The preternatural presence lifts itself off you, its contempt for your human weakness radiating from it as keenly as its malice, as it rejects the one body- _your _body- through which it has managed to channel its destructive urges into humanity's worst reality; a host body long since compromised, reduced now to an emaciated, decaying husk.

You are dying…..

You lie there, inert, tainted with your own foulness, your limbs mangled, the dark stain around your head slowly morphing into a grotesque crimson halo.

And you wonder:

Are you the slaughtered sacrificial lamb, making its final feeble bleats for a noble cause?

Or are you the ignominious fly, pestilential and pathetic, as it lies half-mashed into the ground?

And was your potent spiritual presence not (once) felt in the sacred Pantheon of the Gods of Terror, and was not your name forever inscribed in the earthly Halls of Fame, in letters of blood? Did those miserable, isolated pockets of resistance to your regime not burn effigies of yourself in the fearful secrecy of many a night?

Ahh, how the mighty has fallen…

You are dying…..

…. and it is just beginning.

Obscene, all of it: The neon signs, a plethora of lurid colours, winking down at you; the stink of refuse permeating the evening air; the sounds of drunken revelry close at hand, carried to your dying ears on the cool breeze; a scene whose distorted elements all unite in bearing witness to the tolling of your death knell on this grim night, with the stern, all-seeing eye of the moon the high priest presiding over this most solemn of rites of passage. A bank of clouds soon passes across the face of the moon, however, thrusting a heavy pall of shadow over your broken frame, and the wind picks up; gentle, mournful, setting the tone for your eulogy.

You are dying…

….. and it is taking you an eternity.

But you are fast losing the physical struggle.

Mad impulses are zinging through your body, plunging it into a furnace of pain, then just as abruptly plundering it of all vital sensation….

The deep, steady beating of the gong that is your heart slows down to a barely perceptible murmur….

The shallow, rasping breaths you are able to make are suddenly being muffled as by a preternatural hand….

Your fierce ebony eyes are glazing over in piteous supplication, and your cold, fine-boned aristocratic face is twisting into a caricature of drawn-out human anguish…

And something is being ripped up from deep within you, like the stubborn weed that is viciously pulled out by the gardener's calloused fingers, and you are finally being treated to the desperate cry of your own soul as it is being violently dislodged from its spiritual soil….

And then you realize what a big lie it was about souls being extinguished as gently as snuffing out candles….

Or maybe you have just been deemed unworthy of such small mercies…

You are dying…..

… and a special place in Hell is reserved for your likes.

You wonder if, when resurrected in Hell, you will finally be the equal of the entity which has abandoned you to an ignominious mortal death. Do the Fallen Angel and the Human Fiend walk about the pits of Hell with linked arms, each saying to the other, "You are my brother," and attracting and fending off the wrath of God and his Avenging Angels in equal proportions? Do human egos transcend mortal death so that one can, in future, smite down any of the nameless, faceless strangers who should happen to stumble upon one's eternal resting place?

You are dying….

…. And you are almost there

Whatever manner of man you may have been in life, you finally yield yourself to Death and His intimate accolades, and before the last grain of lucidity you have left disintegrates into nothing, you sadly reflect that Death has always been your one true paramour.

**FINIS**

_**Trivia: I actually considered killing Jin off in a flowery field with sunshine. Wonder how that would have turned out, lol.**_


End file.
